The Outsiders Collection
by NijiNoNeko
Summary: Cherry pours out her opinions and feelings about meeting Ponyboy and the rest of the greasers at the drive-in and the night before the big rumble in her diary entries, and Randy confesses to her and his Soc mates.
1. The Diary of Cherry Valance

**We studied the Outsiders in school, so had to write lots of work based on it. As they are practically fanfiction anyway, I thought I'd upload them here. So here's the first installment. For this, we were told to write a diary entry for Cherry Valance on the night that she first meets the greasers at the drive-in. I ended up getting a little carried away, so it's quite long, but I thought that, for those rare few Outsider-fans out there, I'd upload it anyway.**

**

* * *

The Diary of Cherry Valance**

Dear Diary,

Tonight was . . . weird. Totally weird. And strange. I'm still not entirely sure how things came around. That's how weird it was.

I guess it kind of started when Bob and the guys suggested we all go up to the drive-in. The film was lousy, but Marcia came too, so I thought it would be okay. God, I was wrong. I've told all the guys, again and again and again, what happens when they get drunk. For a start, it's totally against the law, then all the arguments, the fights . . . I can't stand fighting. It scares me, and if people whip out their knives . . . I just don't like getting involved. Neither does Marcia, much. So, when they brought out the drinks, I was adamant. As I've told them before; it's us or the booze. They went for the booze, so we moved. The guys got angry, and left. Marcia and I sat in a huff. Did I mention how much the film sucked? Not my type, but Marcia seems to enjoy them.

They _they_ came. The greasers. The annoying graces, who was everything a typical greaser was supposed to be and the other two. Strange greasers. Not like normal ones. They actually seemed to respect us, instead of taking advantage of two girls out alone. Either that or they were scared. Or shy. But a shy greaser? They actually seemed, well, nice. But the greaser they were with was a pain in the neck. He was everything I'd heard or ever thought about greasers. From the moment he sat down right behind us, I knew what was coming.

I tried to ignore him. I really tried. At first, he sat and talked. Talked just loud enough for us to hear. Though he was talking to his non-responsive greaser friends, it was totally obvious that we were the object of his attention. And he got worse. He went on and on, and the further he went on the worse he got. It got to the extent that Marcia turned slowly scarlet and even the other two greasers seemed embarrassed. I vaguely heard one make an excuse to get up and go briefly out the drive-in. Then, he blew the final straw. That greaser dared, actually _dared_, to stick his feet up on my chair. And that was all it took.

I spun around to shout at him. The greaser didn't seem to care. He was getting me irritated just for fun. What really got on my nerves was that he still had the cheek to sit there, oh, so casually, looking at me very much like my boyfriend had just before. I mean, how can a greaser look so . . . so infuriatingly calm, and get on my every last nerve, but yet – and I guess I had to admit it – be so good-looking too? And he probably had a knife on him somewhere as well. I swear, it was such a relief when he got up (to buy us Cokes, no less) and left. Marcia and I immediately turned to the remaining greaser, expecting the same. But as soon as I looked at him, I knew he wouldn't.

Ponyboy Curtis. That's what he told us his name was. I liked it. An unusual and individual name. He looked younger than the other greaser. I was pretty certain I'd seen him somewhere before. He looked familiar, and totally embarrassed. Though they hang around together, I could tell they had their solid differences. When the other non-annoying greaser returned, he seemed nervous. He was called Johnny. Johnny Cade. The name vaguely rang a bell, though I wasn't too sure from where. He looked the same kind of age as Ponyboy, though apparently he was two years older. Strange really. He's got these huge, great big, black eyes, that are always darting around everywhere. I got the feeling Ponyboy was sort of unconsciously on the lookout for Johnny, and wondered if he had a bad history or something. Now I know he does. He does, and I kind of wish I hadn't found out.

Then _he _came back. I needn't go into detail. His name's Dally. This time he had the sheer nerve to come and sit right beside me and give me a Coke. I chucked it right over him. However, instead of getting annoyed, he just laughed. Then tried to put an arm around me. But surprise of all surprises, Johnny stopped him. Johnny, the one who seemed scared of everyone and everything. Dally looked simply stunned, and I had the impression that he wouldn't have taken his arm off me if it had been anyone else. I shot a glance at Ponyboy, whose mouth had dropped open and whose eyes were wide. This must have been a completely different side of Johnny. To stand up to Dally must have taken some courage; it obviously didn't happen often as the greaser appeared to give in and stalked out. There was an uncomfortable silence. I was pleased to see the back of him, whereas I noticed Johnny now looked slightly more scared, and Marcia had accepted and was still drinking the Coke that Dally had given her, pretending to concentrate on the movie.

Marcia glanced at me. I could see the distress in her eyes, so understood when she asked Ponyboy and Johnny to sit up with us. They looked surprised, then shyly consented. I liked the way that they both sat down, Ponyboy between us, Johnny on my left, neither of them commenting, or putting an arm around us or trying to do anything Dally would have done. I had trouble remembering that they were even greasers – they were just so different. It was fun talking to someone nice for a change. Apparently Ponyboy had got moved up a year at our school – a smart greaser? Makes a nice change from the rumours we hear – whilst his brother had dropped out. I'd seen him working at the gas station. He was extremely good-looking, and I could see the family resemblances clearly. Sodapop, Ponyboy'd said his name was. I like the way both their names were so unusual. A family thing that was original. Different, but in a cool way. Sodapop and Ponyboy. It made me wonder why my parents ever called me Sherri.

Then I got the shock of my life. _Another _greaser – how many was I going to meet tonight? – turned up. Two-Bit Matthews, Ponyboy told me his name was (or nickname rather). He shocked the life out of Johnny too. By this time I'd learned not to judge greasers too quickly. He seemed nice, with a witty tongue, but I wasn't sure if he'd turn into a monster suddenly like Dally or not. He climbed into the seat beside Marcia, who seemed rather amused by him. Uncertain, I asked Ponyboy to go to buy some popcorn with me. Immediately that we were out of earshot of the others, I double-checked. Ponyboy reassured me that Two-Bit was fine. I was glad, seeing as I'd left Marcia alone with him and Johnny. Which reminded me.

I asked Ponyboy if anything had happened to Johnny. He instantly tensed up. Hesitantly, kind of painfully, he told me. He told me about the kind of life he was forced to endure at home. About the father that beat him. The mother who ignored then yelled and screamed at him. And then about the Socs. Oh, Gods. I listened in absolute horror as Ponyboy told me about Johnny, already suffering so much, getting jumped by the Socs. It was terrible. People, my class of people, probably people I knew, who'd driven up in a blue Mustang. He told me Johnny's desperate version of the tale that they'd scraped out of him when they'd found him, lying, probably presumed dead on the floor. Of the Socs who came out the car. Of the Soc with heavy rings on his hand that cut his face so brutally. I was stricken by how anyone could do that to a guy, no matter where he came from.

When we returned to the film I looked closer at Johnny, understanding. Here was the reason behind his self-conscious air. This was his history, his terrible past that made him what he was like. I felt sorrowful, great pity at what he'd had to endure, as if it had been my fault. Then I glanced at Two-Bit. I saw that he too, despite being locked in some mad conversation with Marcia, also had the same unconsciously-watching-out-for attitude as Ponyboy. I saw too, that this was what greaser gang life was like. The bond ran deeper than just the mates that us Socs saw. There was a strain in them that actually cared. Cared a lot. They were more like brothers, each knowing exactly what the others needed, or what they didn't or did like. Their lives revolved around each other as one family group that needed each and every one of them. There was a deeper feeling that ran in them than any Socs I'd ever known. But I guess, without the luxuries of the life we had, maybe this was how they'd survived alternatively. I felt that greasers were so different to what we'd been taught to think. Maybe they weren't so inhumane after all.

The movie over, we started to think about how we'd get home. We'd driven up with the guys who'd left, so now had no transport. But, very gallantly – that's certainly not what we're told Greasers are supposed to be like – they offered to walk us home. However, the idea of possibly being spotted by anyone, (especially our boyfriends if they came back to pick us up, feeling guilty,) walking down the street with three greasers – it wasn't something a Soc was supposed to do. On the other hand, the greasers looked tough, which probably reduced our chances of getting mugged or jumped. Then again, if Dally returned to them . . . Perhaps it was safer just to call and ask our parents to pick us up. Two-Bit is incredibly persuasive though, and before we knew it, Marcia and I were being walked down the road towards Two-Bit's house so he could drive us home.

With Marcia and Two-Bit waffling on on some completely wild conversation and Johnny, quiet, shy, with his big, dark eyes, Ponyboy fell into step beside me. I can't really remember what we talked about. Just random things I suppose. I told him more about myself; the way I just try to fit in with my friends, even if it means doing things, going to places, that I don't even want to . . . like coming to the drive-in. I'm not really sure why I decided to come. The film wasn't anything I might have liked, but I still went along. And met the Greasers. In return, Ponyboy told me about his family. About his other brother, Darrel, who doesn't like him at all. It's funny, but Ponyboy and I, we have had such different upbringings, we live such different lives, we are about as different from each other as any two people can be. Yet we have some things about us that are so similar. We both like to sit back, once in a while, just to admire the sunset. Strange. Completely different lives, in completely different places, yet we see the same sunset. The same sunset that shows all across the world.

Then down the road came a blue Mustang. We froze. It passed us slowly. I turned around, not wanting to look at it, even though I knew exactly who was in it. The Mustang passed, and we breathed out. We carried on, whilst the Greasers started arguing over something. None of us noticed when the Mustang returned. They noticed us and got out. I glanced at the Greasers. Two-Bit was up, ready for a fight, Ponyboy was expressionless. He looked tough. Then I looked at Johnny. Johnny looked terrified. After what had happened, I could understand why he was always alert. But this, this was pure terror. His hands were clenched into tight fists and he'd gone white. I could practically see him shaking. Two-Bit cracked a joke that no one laughed at and I turned back to my boyfriend. And Marcia's boyfriend. And the other guys in the blue Mustang. Blue mustang? I whipped my head around to stare from Johnny to the car. Could it be? Then, knowing exactly what I'd find, my gaze slid to Bob's hand. Large, heavy rings. Like he always wore. _Oh Gods_, I thought. Blue mustang, rings, Johnny . . . it couldn't have been!

In the end, Marcia and I rode home with them. I didn't talk to Bob or any of the others at all. I had too much on my mind. Because it couldn't have been them. Could it?

* * *

**Well, I hope you found that interesting . . . needless to say, I don't own the Outsiders or the events that happen in this fanfic. It's the same as in the book, just from Cherry's perspective. Next will be Cherry's Diary Part Two.**


	2. Cherry's Second Diary Entry

**Part Two of Cherry's diary. This follows on from the first one. Out task here was to write down Cherry's thoughts on the rumble, just before it happens. This is much shorter than the first entry. Hope you enjoy it!**

**

* * *

The Diary of Cherry Valance – Second Entry**

Dear Diary,

It's been a while since I sat down, took up this pen and wrote, so I'm not too sure where to start. I suppose I should explain _why_ I'm writing again. The answer is; tonight. I need somewhere to put down all my thoughts before tonight. Tonight. One big rumble. I won't be there of course, it's only the guys. But I'll be thinking about it. Socs vs. Greasers. Once and for all. The final stand, the last battle. I hate fights, any fight, but particularly rumbles. So many could die. And it's all my fault.

If only I hadn't gone to the drive-in last week. If only Bob hadn't brought drinks . . . Bob. This rumble is for him. He'd have loved to be in it. But he can't. He can't ever be a part of any rumble ever again. Because he's dead. Dead. He died the night of the drive-in. I had no idea. After they picked us up from the greasers, I was furious with him. Furious at them for getting drunk. But mostly furious for what I knew he'd done to the shy, quiet greaser, Johnny. For what Ponyboy had told me Johnny had had to go through when he was beaten up. Beaten up by Bob.

They dropped us off home and Marcia and I left them without so much of a 'good bye'. If only I'd known then what was to happen . . . but I didn't. The last thing Bob saw of me was anger. I went to bed in a huff. The next thing I knew, it was the middle of the night and my phone was ringing. I answered it to hear a panicking Randy. That was when I first heard about Bob's death. He just sort of, blurted it out. Just like that. I dropped the phone. For some reason, it didn't feel true. I felt like I was in a waking dream. It was just so . . . so . . . surreal. Perhaps I thought that if I went to sleep, I'd wake up and it would all be a lie, I'm not sure. I just shrugged it off.

But the next day, the fact was still there. Bob was dead. I caught up with my friends. They'd all been told as well. They comforted me, all of them crying their eyes out. But for some strange reason, I wasn't. I hadn't cried. I hadn't cried the night before, and I wasn't crying now. I was just too dazed to register any emotions. As his girlfriend, I should have been sobbing my eyes out. But I wasn't.

The police called me down to the station for interviewing later that day. I think that was when it hit me. It was all so official there. So serious. That was when I finally broke down. It felt like everything had been bottled up to this point, and was suddenly released. For the first time, I cried, truly cried. The police were very sympathetic. I remember thinking that everything was so stupid. Bob beat up Johnny, Johnny became a nervous wreck, then stabbed Bob in self-defence. That people could die for such stupid reasons! And least of all, to the hand of Johnny, small, quiet, hurt Johnny. It was all so stupid.

I admitted to the police that the Socs had been drunk and were looking for a fight. I always knew alcohol would get people nowhere. I also told them what I knew about Johnny's beating and agreed that it had been in self-defence. I knew deep-down that Bob had probably asked for it, but I couldn't help feeling that it was unfair payment.

I stopped off at the gas station on my journey back. Not that I needed to fill up my car or anything. No, I was looking for someone. Someone in particular. There was only one person working there. Not the person I was looking for, but I figured he might be able to help. Sodapop, Ponyboy's brother. That other greaser, the one that had been there that night, Two-Bit, he was there too. I asked them if they knew where Ponyboy was. They immediately sobered up. They told me he was on the run – with Johnny. I felt suddenly angry. Johnny.

Johnny, the murderer, was hiding and had taken Ponyboy with him. Because of what he'd done to Bob, I felt pure hatred. I felt annoyed with Ponyboy for siding with him, felt furious with _all_ the greasers. But then I looked back up at Sodapop and saw the worry in his eyes. Ponyboy was his brother. Of course he was worried. And for the first time, I heard a catch in Two-Bit's voice at the mention of Johnny. Johnny _had_ acted in self-defence. How could I blame him? If anyone was to blame it was me. I was at the cause of all this. It was my fault. Mine.

So that was how I started helping them. I became a spy. To repay the greasers for my faults. They aren't just a gang. They're not just friends. They are family. They're all brothers, and truly care about each other. They were worried, scared, for Ponyboy and Johnny. And it was my fault that they were troubled. So, ever since, I've been relating information from our side, concerning the rumble, to them. Bob would have been disgusted. But it's the least I can do for him.

This morning, though, I got the shock of my life. I was flicking through the morning news, when – there they were. Johnny, Ponyboy and Dallas Winston. I found myself just staring at their pictures for a while. Johnny had cut his hair. It made his eyes look even more nervous. He was terrified of what he'd done. How could I have blamed him? Ponyboy – he'd bleached and cut his hair. In a strange way, it made him look more like Sodapop. And Dallas – I tried not to look at him. I read the article underneath.

It said there had been a fire, in nearby Windrixville. Five children had been caught in it, but Johnny, Ponyboy and Dallas had saved them. Of Ponyboy, I could see why he would have done that. He's cut out to be a hero, I think. And Johnny, Johnny too. That night, he did it to save Ponyboy. It wasn't his fault. But Winston – no way was he a hero. I vaguely wondered when he had changed.

Apparently, all three had been in hospital. Thankfully, Ponyboy was all right; he'd already left. Dallas – I told myself I didn't care about him. But what hit me the most was Johnny. It said he was critically injured. If he recovered, he'd never be able to walk again. Odd, isn't it, how fate repays itself? I should have been sorry for him, but I wasn't. I couldn't be. I still couldn't face what he'd done to Bob.

My second shock came later on. Randy cornered me, and, rather uncomfortably, told me that he wouldn't be going to the rumble. I could hardly believe my ears. Since when did Randy, Bob's loyal side-kick, turn down a fight? And then I realised that that was why. Because he'd been Bob's friend. He said that Bob had died in a fight, so fighting wouldn't solve anything. I totally agree with him.

This afternoon, I was waiting in the lot for the greasers to come by. And they did come by. Two-Bit . . . and Ponyboy. For some reason, I hadn't expected to see him. I relayed some information to Two-Bit, who accepted it and walked off. He's easy around me now. All the greasers in their gang are. They've got used to me. I asked Ponyboy to stay behind to talk. He seemed different. Older. The days on the run and the fire had matured him. Gone was that innocent boy I'd met at the drive-in. There was a stranger in his place.

He seemed almost annoyed that I'd sided with them. He called me a 'traitor to my own kind'. That hurt the most. I'd thought Ponyboy would have understood the most why I was doing this. But all the others had accepted me. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Ponyboy would be the one who never got used to me. The thought saddened me.

He asked me if I'd go to see Johnny in hospital. I knew at once from the look in his eye and the catch in his voice what was happening. Johnny's dying. He's not going to make it. But I can't bring myself to visit him. It'd be too much of a reminder of Bob. But mostly I won't go to see him because it's my fault that he's there. It's my fault one guy is already dead and another lies dying. It's all my fault.

And I can't stand that.

* * *

**What do you think? Do you think Cherry would have been thinking these things? Please let me know by reviewing! Thanks for reading - next will be 'Randy Confesses: Part One - to Cherry'.**


	3. Randy Confesses to Cherry

**These last two are some short one-shots that we did for cover work. This first one is Randy telling Cherry that he's not going to be fighting and that he's leaving Tulsa.**

**

* * *

Randy Confesses: Part One – To Cherry**

"You what?" Cherry stared at Randy, stunned. Randy leaned against the wall uncomfortably, playing his fingers over the cracks in the bricks.

"Wait, say that again," Cherry took a step closer, wide-eyed.

"You heard me," Randy met her gaze with difficulty. "I'm leaving."

"You're not going to the rumble?" Cherry asked slowly. Randy nodded.

"I . . . er, . . . yeah," Randy looked away, digging up the cement in the wall with his fingernails. Cherry slid back, an eyebrow raised, staring at Randy. He felt embarrassed, and cleared his throat.

"I'll . . . um, I'll be . . .er, leaving Tulsa," his voice was so low Cherry only just caught what he was saying. "I don't think I'd be able to face the guys again. And I don't want to fight, either."

"It's because of Bob, isn't it?" Cherry said softly. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah," Randy couldn't bear to look at her. "Er . . . tell Marcia won't you? Tell her I'm-" he swallowed, looking everywhere but at Cherry. "Tell her I'm sorry."

"Of course I will," Cherry placed a hand on Randy's shoulder. Randy looked up and met her gaze for a last time.

"Thanks," he muttered, before wheeling around and hastily climbing into his Mustang. Then, he was gone, and Cherry was left staring at the gouges in the wall.

* * *

**The next and final one will be Randy confessing that he's leaving to the other Socs.**


	4. Randy Confesses to the other Socs

**Basically what the title says. I don't own the Outsiders, S. E. Hinton does. However, for the purpose of this one-shot, I created Buster. (Well, sort of - I asked a friend sitting next to me in class to say the first name she could think of and she goes 'Buster!' Sometimes I really wonder what goes on in her head, but he did make a good Soc!)**

**

* * *

Randy Confesses: Part Two – To the other Socs**

"Okay guys, let's go and wipe some grease!" Buster yelled at the room in general. Randy stiffened as the Socs around him leapt up, excited at the prospect of the rumble ahead. The room was cleared in an instant, the rowdy crowd (most of them totally drunk) leaping into their cars outside. Randy stayed where he was, head bowed, heart pounding.

"Hey, Randy! Aren't you coming?" It was Buster, poking his head around the door. Slowly, Randy stood.

"I've decided," he took a step towards Buster. "I'm not going."

Buster towered over him. "You're what?"

"I'm not going," Randy said in a level voice. "I won't fight."

Buster just stared. Randy went on.

"It's all wrong," he said. "Fighting is what killed Bob in the first place. It won't solve anything." Buster took a step back, his eyes staring in shock at Randy. Randy lifted his head high, and kept his gaze firm. Then Buster darkened. His eyes narrowed.

"You coward."

He spat on the ground, turning to head after the other Socs. Randy stayed where he was as the other cars drove off, Buster's words ringing in his ears.

_Coward . . . Coward . . . Coward . . .

* * *

_

**And that's all, folks! My collection of Outsiders school-work finished! I'm probably never going to do any Outsiders fanfiction out of school, so that's it forever! _Forever!_ (I'm in a really dramatic mood; maybe you can tell?) I hope you've enjoyed this, anyhow. Please review to tell me what you thought! Thanks for reading!**_  
_


End file.
